Drip
by teaandcharcoalforbreakfast
Summary: Just some PWPin which America decides that he wants to try some psychological S&M and England complies a little too well. UKUS in that order, BDSM, smut, deanon from kink meme.


** A/N: **Why is it that when I write BDSM a good chunk of the fic gets away from the original prompt? I donno, but this started out as just any (England)/America with use of a spreader bar. Yeah...

* * *

><p>America awoke to the sound of dripping water. That was the first thing that he noticed, before the soreness in his thighs and biceps, the weight around his wrists and neck, even the pressure against his ankles. He opened his eyes, but it didn't do him any favors.<p>

The ceiling above his head creaked. He tried to stand and realized that he had been chained to the flat surface he was bent against. With the way that the edge of it was digging into his stomach, he must have been naked.

Great, so where the hell was he?

Okay, so the last thing he could remember was being in England's house. They were eating breakfast- no, _England _was eating. America's stomach growled to remind him that he hadn't eaten anything since dinner the previous night. What else? Why wasn't he eating?

Fuck, America was _never _this drowsy when he woke up. It was like he was on some sort of drug.

Oh.

_Oh. _

Now he remembered. He remembered talking to England about trying it. He remembered taking the sleeping pills. He remembered lying on the couch with his head on England's lap, his lover petting his hair until he passed out.

America took a deep breath and relaxed. This was no big deal. He was just in England's basement. It was all just a game, and one he'd asked for at that. England would come in in a few moments and fuck him until he couldn't see straight. America would scream until his throat was raw and pretend that he hated every second of it.

He wiggled against the table in anticipation. He and England hadn't played in a long, long time. They'd had sex, and it was always fantastic, but America hadn't had the chance to submit to England for a while now. He missed it a little; the feeling of being powerless, of being able to trust his lover to take care of him. He didn't know how he could wait, but he did. He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And- Oh, fuck, England probably didn't know he was awake. That was why he was taking so long to come!

"Hey England?" Shit, his voice was rough. He swallowed, wetting his throat the best he could without water, "Hey, England! I'm up, so you can come down here now!"

There was no response. Not a noise could be heard except for the creaking of the house above and the incessant dripping. It was really starting to get annoying.

He rolled his eyes. So that was the game England was playing. He was trying to outlast him, probably sitting on one of those couches upstairs, sewing, and wearing this innocent, content little smile on his face, far too innocent and content to be derived from hearing his partner scream.

America sure as hell wasn't gonna give him that satisfaction. He clenched his jaw and tried to relax. Because of the obvious difficulty of that combination, he laid his head down on the table and opened his mouth just a little bit. Japan had taught him some crazy Zen meditation stuff back in the sixties, and maybe it'd help him a little bit now.

'Course, he'd never really been any good at it, but he was half-way decent at controlling his breathing because it always helped him go to sleep if he was having trouble. It was at least worth a shot. He closed his eyes and breathed.

In, out. In, out. In-

Damn, how heavy were those chains? He reached a little bit and traced one of the links with his fingers. Holy shit! Where the fuck did England get them? Clean off a train?

No, bad America. Focus. In, out. In, out.

Drip.

No. In, out. In, ou-

Drip.

In.

Drip.

Out.

Drip.

Inoutinout-

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

That fucking sound! It was more than annoying now and definitely more than just background noise. Just a steady little plop every couple of seconds, it shouldn't have been affecting him like that. But it was. It was like someone had shoved their fingers in his ears and was just shoving them deeper and deeper until the only things left were pain and that _goddamn sound. _

He couldn't help it, he had to yell again.

"England! Please, England! Make it stop! That fucking noise! Please!"

There was still not a word, not a flurry of movement from upstairs. America wondered if England was even still there; if he'd abandoned him.

No, he shook his head and the chain around his neck jingled, England wouldn't do that. He was right there, waiting to step in if things got out of hand. America could just say the word and it would end. England would come out and free him and hold him and kiss him better. But the idea seemed wrong, distasteful even. It made him feel warmer, though, just to know that there was a way out.

"I know what you're doing!" he shouted, "You're trying to break me with the dark and the chains and the dripping. Well guess what, you can leave me here all day, it ain't gonna work!"

He huffed and put his head back down on the table. Who did England think he was, some distressed little girl? No. Hell no. He'd been taken prisoner during both World Wars, Vietnam, and his Civil War. He was in Andersonville in '64 and managed to get out before the end of the war; this was nothing.

At least, that was what he told himself. But this was different somehow. Normally when he was being kept somewhere he spent his time thinking of how he was going to escape and being sustained by thoughts of getting back at whoever shoved him in there. But now he couldn't escape, couldn't get revenge afterwards because it wasn't supposed to go that way. There was nothing to do but listen to the dripping and the creaking and hope that England would come get him soon. He felt his previously-boundless determination being stretched tighter and tighter by every drop of water and every movement of the wood until it began to come apart like a good rope pulled over a fire.

"Please," He whimpered, holding on just enough to feel disgusted with his tone but not enough to stop himself, "Please help me."

"Oh, I don't think so," England's voice was smooth and so sudden. It made America jump. How long had England been standing there just over his shoulder, enjoying his discomfort?

Then the lights went up. It was so bright, so very bright. He shut his eyes and buried his face in his shoulder. He heard the sharp clack of England's shoes on the floor. When he was able to look, England was standing there on the opposite side of the table, leaning on his arms and glaring.

America couldn't look away. The green of England's eyes was pulling him in. It was such a sharp contrast from the pink of his skin, the dull yellow of his hair, and the absolute whiteness of his suit and the wall behind him.

America wanted to say something. He wanted to ask why England had left him in the dark, if he had been standing there the whole time, why the fuck everything was so _bright, _where in the hell that dripping noise was coming from when there was no water in the room, anything really to break the almost-silence. But he couldn't. All he could do was stare.

"Well?" England asked, "You asked for me to come, and now I'm here. What comes next?"

America backpedaled, "Hey, aren't you supposed to take it from here?"

"No," England said.

"No?"

"No," England stood and began to walk around the table, "You should know how this works. You _asked _for it, you needy little slut. You didn't want me to intervene until the very," Clack, "Last," Drip, "Moment," He took one more step and stopped, right behind America.

The younger man tried to turn his head.

"Don't you dare. I can see you don't need me yet."

One of England's hands landed on each side of America's, and he leaned forwards until America could feel his body heat against his bare back. He arched to try to get to him, but England stood back up. America whimpered.

"You're a child," England said, walking back to the far side of the table, not letting America see his face, "You're a child who thinks that if he begs and begs daddy will give him a sweet. Well, guess what," England turned on his heel and sat down on the edge of the table, "I won't give you anything until you deserve it."

"And I'll deserve it when-?"

"You'll deserve it once you can show me true defeat, true desperation."

"And until that?"

England just grinned evilly and crossed his legs. Then there was nothing but the dripping. It seemed louder than before. And the situation was worse because now England was just sitting there, staring at him. His grin had melted into the normal, level expression that he usually wore.

America really, really wanted to cross his legs. England had seen him naked plenty of times, but that was different. There was always warmness and love in his eyes, even if it was just at the corners. But now there was absolutely nothing, and it scared him. For the first time, America actually felt exposed. He pressed as far into the table as possible, trying to hide himself. He didn't like this distance between them, both the actual couple of feet and the emotional distance. It made him feel too much like he was some freak on display. America didn't hate it enough to pull the plug, though. It would get better; he just had to trust England.

But the goddamn staring!

"Fucking do something," America said, gritting his teeth.

England frowned and slid off the table, "It's not time to give you what you want yet," he said too softly to be safe, "but since you seem intent on making it worse for yourself…" England walked behind America and slid something small and cold inside of him. America knew better than to try to push it out, but he still had to look back at England with an eyebrow raised. England just flipped the switch on the toy.

The younger man jumped a little as it started to buzz, "This is supposed to be worse?"

"You'll see," England said, backing away.

America closed his eyes and gave into the pleasure. It was nice, an actual distraction from the dripping and the staring. He felt his belly start to tighten and let out a small moan. England tugged the vibrator out and America whimpered a little at the loss. He was pacified a moment later when England slid a larger one inside.

However, he couldn't help but notice that even as England pulled his hand away he had yet to actually fell any sort of contact from the older nation. He should have noticed it he had. He _would _have noticed if he had. And yet there was no brushing of silk gloves or even the smooth whatever-it-was that the suit was made out of (normally England's suits were wool, but it didn't really look like wool and _why the fuck was he worrying about this when he had a vibrator up his ass and England wouldn't even touch him?)_

There was a loud clack as England took a step back, furthering abandoning him. America turned and gave England a sad look, not his "kicked puppy dog" one, but the real honest-to-God "Why'd you do that, babe?" one. England's eyes, which had previously been trained on his ass, flicked up to his face. His expression softened just a little, brow getting just a tiny bit smoother.

"_Do you want me to stop?" _The unsaid question hung in the air, _"Because I will. Just say the word." _

America shook his head and placed his cheek back on the table. That would be giving up, surrendering. He was the United States of America, and he was going to see this through to the end no matter what.

"Just say something." He muttered.

"Like what?" England asked, "What the fuck do you need me to say? This is me indulging you as it is, treating you like the slut you are."

America let out a sigh. There was something comforting about England cussing at him like that. It made things rawer and grittier, more like what they usually did.

"Bloody Hell," England said, coming closer, "You _are _an absolute whore aren't you?" America started sweating and allowed himself to get lost in England's rant, "You're enjoying this. I tie you up, force your legs open, and stuff an unfeeling piece of plastic inside of you and you fucking _sigh happily _about it. Whore is too good of a label for you, even. Whore sounds too stylish, like someone who works in a real brothel and wears something smooth and seductive. What's that word you use for someone who those women who dress garishly with unnatural makeup, fishnets, and plastic skirts that might as well be a belt?"

He stood there silently, probably trying to remember the word. America, for his part, was not enjoying the quiet (and the dripping that came with it) or how far away he was, especially since he was going to come soon.

England stood right behind him again, "Well, America? What's the word?"

He wasn't even going to grant him his silence, was he? "Hooker," America panted, "They're called hookers."

"Oh, yes. And that's what you are, America. You're a hooker. You exist just to be used and nothing more. And you do get used don't you?" He was whispering in America's ear now, "I bet that you're fucked so often you can easily take _this." _

America should have seen it coming. He _really _should have seen it coming. However, he didn't and so _he _was the one coming when England shoved the full-sized dildo inside of him right next to the other vibrator.

His eyes fluttered as he tried to bring the world back into focus. He couldn't think straight, thinking both that he needed England to untie him and hold him _and _that he needed England to keep tormenting him along with things that were completely random like "remember to get your dry-cleaning on Tuesday."

England just laughed, "See? Do you see what I mean, America? You can't even wait until it's appropriate to come. Hell, you're barely worthy of being a fucking toss pot. I would think you could have lasted longer, what with how easily you took this," he tugged on the dildo to make it absolutely clear what he was talking about. America, still being a little oversensitive, whimpered, "Oh, I have an idea. Let's see how much you can hold, shall we?"

America stiffened. Was England seriously gonna-

He switched the smaller of the two toys for a slightly larger one.

-Yes he was. Was it even possible to take two dicks up the ass?

"Come now, you useless cunt, why are you making that face? I'm sure you've done this before."

Um, no. No he hadn't. Unless… He had given England permission to do whatever he needed to do to prepare him, and he _had _said he wanted his limits pushed.

He willed himself to relax. England wouldn't try this if he didn't think America could handle it. He could at least give it a shot.

England let out a devilish chuckle, "My, no objections? You really _are _a useless slut. All you can do is lie there and take it." He flipped the larger toy's switch, making it buzz, "You can't even close your legs, can't even cover yourself. Oh, but I'd love to see you try, love to make you clench even tighter around my toys. Can you do that for me, America? Go on, try."

"Fuck you," America said.

"Oh, I'm sure you will, what with being bound to the table like that. What can you do to me, America? What could you even hope to do to me?" He walked around to the side of the table, looking America in the eye. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another cock-sized vibrator, "I wasn't expecting to get this far, but you're so loose, so easy. But it seems I've run out of lubricant," he turned his wrist, looking at the bumpy piece of plastic with subdued interest, "What ever shall I do?"

America, sensing where that was going, opened his mouth.

"Oh?" England asked, "Are you tired, yawning like that?"

"You know what I'm trying to tell you," America pleaded, "Don't make me say it."

"I believe I can make you do whatever I want."

There was silence for a moment, both participants refusing to say anything.

"I'll suck it," America said softly.

England smiled and held it to his lips. America opened his mouth and took it in, making sure to coat it as best he could in saliva. England left him to it and walked back around to again pull out the smaller toy. But then he felt something else poking at his entrance. He looked back to see England carefully sliding the tip of another large dildo along the first. The lying bastard. But still, he smiled as best he could around the cock in his mouth, at least this way he had something to suck on

He kept his eyes on England the entire time, taking note of how hard he was concentrating. For a moment, they were lovers again. It was back to just being a game, something that they were doing for a change of pace. America groaned. Fuck, two dicks was a lot bigger from this side. But it was good, it was so good. There was so much pressure inside of him that he felt like he was going to split in two in the best way. All he could do was lay there, shiver, and love every second. Once both cocks were nestled inside of him, England turned them on, making America come for the second time within ten minutes.

Then the dynamic shifted again. England was just standing there and staring at his ass, eyes occasionally looking up to see the other cock in his mouth. America spit the toy out and looked away. He still felt England's eyes on him, though. But just his eyes. Why only his eyes? America clenched his jaw and fists. What was he? Some sort of show? Just lewd porn, not getting anything back?

Then he finally felt it. England wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned against his back.

"It's time," he said gently, "You got what you asked for. I can't keep you from what you need anymore."

But America wasn't listening. Like a balloon getting too close to a fire, something in America popped and all this tension he didn't even know he had came spilling out. England felt so hot against him after being naked and untouched for so long. It was like the Brit was made of plasma or something, but America couldn't help but enjoy the way that he was searing his skin off.

"All _I _need is for you to tell me what _you _need."

"What I need?" America asked, feeling a little lightheaded.

"That's right," he slid his hands up over America's shackles, "You can just say the word, love, and I'll free you. We can go back upstairs and-"

"No!" America shouted. England jumped a little, accidentally pushing the toys. It hurt, but America couldn't be bothered, "I need you, England."

"I'm right here," England said, stroking his neck.

"No, England. I _need _you," America arched his back so that there could be no question in what he meant. He didn't want to have to say it again.

"Alright," England said, "But I'll have to leave for a moment, alright?"

America just nodded.

England stood up and he must have peeled off a glove because then a bare hand started petting America's spine. The younger nation relaxed into the touch and let his eyes slide closed. There was nothing wrong now, nothing at all. Everything had just been England preparing him for ravishing so that everything would feel better when he finally got to it. He knew that he had been right not to safeword. Maybe next time they should cut out that part about being left alone in the dark, but, oh fuck, he wanted England so bad.

"God, England," he said, looking back at his half-naked partner, "I love you so much, you don't even know." He was starting to get hard again already. Damn, normally he needed like twice that long.

England's lips twitched up into a smile for a moment. He pulled his hand away and America let out a little unhappy groan. He was pacified a moment later because then England reached for his belt, quickly undoing it and dropping his pants. America watched his lover's member spring free with a moan almost as loud as England's.

"Oh, you have no idea how badly I was hurting," England said, "You're far too sexy for my good when you're like this."

"Don't care. Take away those stupid pieces of plastic, I want the real deal." America tugged at his bonds.

"Give me a moment to slick up, will you? Christ, America," He rolled his eyes and reached into the pocket of his discarded jacket for the little bottle. He uncapped the bottle but paused to look at America. He stroked America's hair, "I'm glad you're back though. I don't know what to do when you actually shut that fat mouth of yours."

America smiled back and they didn't break eye contact until England closed his eyes and shuddered as he began to rub one lube-covered hand over his dick.

"Dammit, don't come without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," The older nation replied.

He tugged one of the toys out and America groaned, "I gotta have you," he muttered.

England resumed his position from before, bent over America. But this time instead of wrapping his arms around America's middle, he put his hand over his lover's and intertwined their fingers.

"You ready?" He whispered.

"That would've been a good question before you stuffed two dildos up my ass," America said, grinding back against him.

America didn't have to look to see England roll his eyes before he turned the vibrator back on and guided himself in.

The older nation didn't waste any time establishing a rhythm and giving America his well-deserved fucking. It was well worth the wait. A steady stream of moans and pleased babbling flowing was from America's throat without his moderation or attention. England was being really, really distracting.

America wanted to spread his legs further, wanted to take England even easier so that they could go faster, but the damn bar was in the way. He wished that England had chained his ankles apart instead so that he could move. Instead, he just had to sit there and take every thrust, rolling his hips back to meet his lover as best as he could in his current position.

He had daydreamed about this sort of thing before, being bent over the table with two dicks up his ass, but he'd never thought it would be like this. He'd always thought that it would be much lewder, something disgusting and raunchy that he would have to deny in public.

He chuckled to himself. He should have known better. Nothing was ever lewd with England.

"Something- Something funny, twat?"

"No- Nothing much. I'm just dumb."

"Big surprise."

"Shut up."

England gave a particularly hard thrust, making America groan loudly.

Whatever it was, from vanilla to food-play to all sorts of scenarios that would be illegal if they were real, sex with England was never dirty. It was usually exciting, it was consistently hot, but it was always meaningful. It was their way of saying "I love you," because words weren't enough to express it anymore. They never had been, really.

England could (and often did) wax poetic for hours and hours, but it never got the message across as clearly as when he held America's hand so tightly that it cut off circulation and said his name over and over as his thrusts grew sporadic.

America would buy him gifts that were actually really thoughtful and tell him lots of little things about him were cute (usually his accent or his talking to his imaginary friends) and England would sputter and turn a (really, _really) _cute shade of pink, but he knew that that meant absolutely nothing when it was next to the way that he would tilt his head so that it was right next to England's and push against his cheek to try to get even closer.

"Hey, hey England," America said between breaths.

"Yeah?"

"I'm close."

England let out a breathy laugh, "No, really?"

"Touch my cock."

The older nation carefully untangled his fingers and wrapped them around his partner's throbbing arousal. America shuddered as he began to pump in time to his thrusts, overwhelming him with pleasure from both ends. Everything felt so slippery: his chest on the table, England's belly on his back, the cock fucking him, the cock just sitting there, England's hand wrapped around him, their faces against each other, hell, even his feet were so slippery that if it weren't for the table they would have fallen by then. His ankles slid against the bar. Then, finally, the pressure that was building up inside of him slipped and he spilled out all over the floor for the third time.

England didn't last much longer, but he came with a little shout so it probably took him by surprise. He finally let all his weight fall down on America's back. With a grunt, America took both. He loved it when England would be careless enough to drop on him like that after filling him with come. It was comforting to be owned so completely for a little while.

But then his wrists and ankles were chafing and his lover was starting to realize how much pressure he was putting on him. He reached over and unlatched America's handcuffs. America reached back and ran his fingers down England's sides, never so grateful to be able touch them, just to feel the man he loved.

America laughed. It almost made his new phobia of leaky-faucets worth it all on its own.


End file.
